Bella Muerte
by liar.faker
Summary: Human AU. An outlaw smuggling the precious Moonstone across the border. A pretty thief with big plans and even bigger secrets. Adventure. Peril. Angry Mexicans.


**BELLA MUERTE**

**Prologue**

**livin' la vida loca**

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_She's into superstitions, black cats and voodoo dolls_

_I feel a premonition that girl's gonna make me fall_

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Brains fry like eggs in the Mexican sun. Scorching heat doesn't leave a piece of earth untouched. The air seems to rot along with carrion.

The leather boots stomp on brittle white bones, crushing them with a crack, leaving only a ghostly echo around. Crunching on the gravel, the leather boots make heavy yet sure steps towards La Copa, a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere. Anyone with just a tad bit of common sense would steer clear of this place. Too bad there aren't many of them around.

Still, he's unshaken like the Statue of Liberty. After so much trouble he's gone through to steal the Moonstone, nothing could really bother him. Common sense, or lack of thereof, doesn't bother him—he's got his gun. In the last few days he finished off a small gang of smugglers, he broke a heart, he stole a gem. In the next few days he'll get what he's been dreaming of for ages. He'll get the missing piece of the puzzle his life has been.

It's a good day to celebrate, he thinks and smiles, letting a puff of smoke out of his mouth.

Dropping a cigarette stub, Klaus Mikaelson enters La Copa.

.

.

.

She knows it's him the moment the bar door opens. Everyone but her stops and stares at the stranger in the aviators. When he takes them down, they look away like one looks away from death. She doesn't turn around, too busy fiddling with her phone. All he sees are blonde locks falling loosely on her back and a pair of long, perfect legs crossed over a bar stool. No sooner does she nod at the bartender to refill her drink a man slips on the stool next to her.

Fantastic, Klaus thinks discreetly eyeing her up. Just when he thinks he can't be more content he finds another gem on his way.

The blonde doesn't pay attention to the sidelong glances he's throwing her. Sipping her long drink she keeps texting someone. With every tap on the screen the frown on her forehead becomes deeper. It makes him wonder who irritates her so much her cheeks are burning with anger.

Suddenly she grabs the drink, finishes it in one long gulp, and puts the glass back down with a clunk. "Fix me another one, Raul. Please." She mutters, not even looking at the bartender. The man in his late forties takes the glass with a poker face on and refills it in silence. It looks like this must have been going on for some time now. An angry blonde in a sleazy joint in some godforsaken hole. A miracle or a trap.

"Bad day?" He asks her when his own drink arrives on the bar counter. The blonde doesn't even spare him a glance. She's stuck in a parallel universe where she's probably slapping someone hard on the face.

"Qué tal?" He ventures in Spanish, even though she must be a one hundred percent American.

Finally the girl slowly turns to him with a bored look. Their eyes—two pairs of icy-blues—meet which sends a delightful chills down his back. "Seriously? I'm not interested." Her regular, rosy lips twist into a polite-yet-sour smile before she gets back to texting, angrily pressing the buttons. Amused, Klaus shakes his head like it's exactly what he's been expecting.

He's quite handsome, she thinks relieved as she takes in his curly hair, the stubble and a strong jaw. Good. She hates doing this with unattractive guys. A little bit of fun on a mission never killed anyone. Probably. Maybe.

The blonde turns off her phone completely and shoves it into a pocket of her shorts. Now she looks troubled. Klaus knows this look too well.

"Yeah. A really bad day."

That's it, the game is on. The cards on the table. He'll play along.

"Let me guess. You just broke up with your boyfriend. You were planning a June wedding, but he turned out to be an immature leech. Commitment scared him. Now you're all by yourself in the wild Mexico. You're scared and angry. I'm not sure which feeling is dominant, I'd bet on anger though." He recites leaving her speechless. In every place he gets, Klaus does what he's good at: observing people. Like an artist studies his model, Klaus observes, analyzes, learns. He's seen thousands of girls like this one. Smarter than your average Britney, but insecure. Left alone. Looking for a man that would make them feel special again. An easy prey.

"How did you know that?" She blinks at him in disbelief. He just smirks.

"Long story. I'm too sober to reveal my secrets."

"I'm too bored not to get drunk." She teases.

"I'm Mike." He lies.

"I'm Allison." She lies.

He raises his glass. "To secrets."

"To secrets." She joins him in a toast.

This is going to be a fun evening, they both think. But only one of them is right.

.

.

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Lies flow along with alcohol. People love inventing stories about themselves. They love to walk in someone else's shoes as long as they're comfortable.

Right now she's Allison, a New Yorker, an ex-model, an aspiring journalist. Her life's a pair of Loubotins.

Mike is a Brit, an ex-marine, now he teaches karate in LA. He's life is a pair of heavy boots.

Her eyes brighten when he tells her she's beautiful. His tongue instinctively runs over his lips when he looks down at her bare legs. A big bad wolf, she thinks between smiles and giggles. He'll be surprised when the lamb bites back. She'll wipe this wolfish grin off this fine British face.

After a few more shots he claims he's never been in love. He knows every woman hopes to be so special she'd soften up a stone-hard heart. She almost cries when she says she's so naive when it comes to men. She's trying so hard, but she's never the one.

An easy prey.

It's well past midnight when a meaningful silence hangs in the air and Allison sighs, "I should go." She feels him grab her hand as she tries to leave. "I'm leaving for the US tomorrow."

"Wait. Where are you staying?" He mumbles, feeling dizzy.

"At a nearby motel."

"That's funny." There's a twinkle in his hazy eyes. "Me too."

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.

.

_She'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain_

_She'll make you live her crazy life_

_But she'll take away your pain_

_Like a bullet to your brain_

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The world spins around them as he kisses her roughly, the impact of two bodies colliding sends them down on the bed. Maybe he had too much to drink, but she's a lovely distraction from all the shit he's been through lately. He deserves one night of wicked fun. And she's fun. She's delicious, a cherry on top of a piece of pie. His hands run up and down her thighs when she straddles him, when she takes off his shirt, when she peppers his torso with kisses. A reckless, fun girl he'll never see again.

And a _glorious_ kisser, if you want to know.

He pulls her closer, reveling in the feeling of her warm, suntanned skin against his. Hear breasts fit perfectly into his manly yet neat hands. He can see her smile as her face hovers above his, their noses touch. Allison's tongue runs down his neck and he gets impatient. So impatient, so hungry for her. He´s delighted to hear her moan in response to his teeth sinking into the delicate skin on her neck. Biting is his weakness, but apparently it´s also hers, because the next kiss she places on his collarbone is more of a hard bite. "Nice tattoos," she grins as her nails scratch his upper body. He's about to get up and switch positions with her, but she makes it clear she's the one in control now. Pinning his arms to the bed she licks her lips and looks at him lustfully. There's no doubt the girl likes it rough. As if she knew what he's thinking, she rubs her core against his loin, her movements bold and explicit. Klaus grits his teeth, the feeling in his pants getting so intense, his arousal agonizing. Screw the foreplay, he needs to be inside her now. NOW. His long fingers tug at her pink panties, eager to slip under the fabric, but she slaps his hand away. What a tease. He starts to nervously fumble with her bra instead, trying to undo it, but he's too drunk to figure out how to free her full breasts from this amazing but at the same time devilish invention of fashion.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she laughs at his failure, "why so hasty?" He lets an irritated growl in response to her teasing, but soon it turns into a pleased murmur when she starts to undo his pants.

"Mmmm." Klaus, or Mike if you prefer, sighs with satisfaction. "That's better."

His fingers grab her hair as she sucks at his sensitive spot right under his bellybutton. If she keeps doing this any longer, his body will surely explode. Her mouth stays on his lower stomach though, delivering a painfully slow caress. He buckles his hips, a sign for her to get on with it, but she just chuckles. Her laugh echoes in his mind while his eyelids get heavier and heavier.

"Just wait a few more seconds." She purrs. "One..."

His eyes close. His breathing slows.

"Two..."

He feels like he's falling down into a vortex, everything around him spinning out of control. Down, down, down.

"Three."

He's gone.

The blonde shakes her head and gently strokes his face. "Goodnight, handsome."

_._

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_I woke up in New York City in a funky cheap hotel_

_She took my heart and she took my money_

_She must have slipped me a sleeping pill_

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A bomb of a headache wakes Klaus up, like his brain was on fire. His temple hurts like it was an explosive right before going off. He can hear the ticking of a clock, loud as if a dozen of elephants marched right next to him. He could swear he hears the fucking _atoms_ moving in the air. "Fuck!" He groans as he covers his eyes with the palms of his hands, away from bright sunlight bleeing into his room. If this is an after effect of rough sex after drinking in a Mexican bar then he's not having sex in Mexico again.

But wait, what the hell happened actually?

He remembers the bar, the blonde, the drinks. He doesn't remember their way back to the motel, but he remembers well the feeling of her lips on his body. Damn, where is she?

He props himself on the elbows, which is a tough feat of endurance in his current condition. When he finally can look around his room, he realizes Allison is gone, but his pants are well in the same place they were last night. Did he fall asleep and she left his place discouraged? No, nothing like this has happened before to his inflated ego. This couldn't be the case.

Suddenly something catches his attention. His wallet is lying on the floor, right next to his duffel bag.

"You did not..." He spits, getting more and more angry. With a heroic effort he crawls up to his baggage and starts rummaging through his things. The wallet, as he thought, is empty. She took all his cash both from the wallet and from his secret hiding place in his bag nobody could ever knew. That vixen. She's a pro.

Then he gasps. Despite the burning sensation in his head he rushes to the bathroom and pulls a locker away from the wall. It must be here, she couldn't have known, he rants as he frantically removes a loose tile.

"No!" He clutches on his head, his fingers bury into his curls. "Impossible! It's fucking impossible!"

The secret hole in the wall where he put the Moonstone is empty.

An angry blonde in a sleazy joint in some godforsaken hole. A miracle or a trap.

Looks like he has his answer now.

...

**TBC**

...


End file.
